


The Closest Thing To Heaven

by Lotus_Dumplings



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cold War, F/M, History, Immigration & Emigration, Modern Era, Soviet Union
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 21:55:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19118452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotus_Dumplings/pseuds/Lotus_Dumplings
Summary: The United States of America—Gabija decided—was the closest thing to heaven she would ever get.-----Amenyoliet for rarepair week.





	The Closest Thing To Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Shayden ruined my soul. Shayden ruins a lot of people's souls tho. Gotta love 'em. Also, nyo liet is not just liet with boobs so like I'm not sure how people expect her to act but I really don't care. Enjoy!

In the 19th century, if you'd told Gabija a gateway to Heaven existed, she would've been weary. Despite her conversion nearly five centuries before, she had never really put her entire faith into Christianity. Hell, after her years of existence, she was starting to lose faith in religion as a whole. What cruel god would repeatedly punish they're loyal children? Why would they allow everything to fall apart like this?

During the Great War, if you told Gabija a gateway to Heaven existed, she would sneered at you. How ignorant. Heaven was a human concept, she decided. It was a concept created to give people false hope in a better world. It was a concept that brought the corrupt to power and allowed them to use innocent people. It was a concept that ruined lives and ended more. 

But everything changed after the war, and in 1918, Gabi was convinced she was looking at the very gateways she claimed didn't exist. How else could buildings stack on top of each other like that, reaching for the sky? Why else would so many people around her cry tears of joy and fear? Why else was she finally free after years of being trapped? How else was she in the land of opportunity?

The United States of America—Gabija decided—was the closest thing to heaven she would ever get. 

When she finally got off the ferry, however, she felt it sink in. Her feet were setting into the familiar Earth, but it brought her no comfort. This new home of hers… it didn't feel like home. 

What she would've given, then, to be back in 15th century Europe. What she would've given to march on with her people, sword in hand. What she would've given to dance in a fully lit ballroom, her boots clanking against the tile floor, her partner's dress gliding across the floor or they're buttons sparkling. What she would've given to be "on the top" once more, even if it meant being under Poland. She wanted it so badly.

Gabija rode in a automobile the first time that day. She'd heard of them before, and she'd even seen a few, but she'd never been inside of one. It amazed her. In a place with buildings taller than castles, with horseless carriages, with people just happy to be there, could you blame her for thinking it perfect?

His house was big. His grin was bigger. Gabija had only seen him in passing—during negotiations in Versailles or on the battlefield with his men. She'd never talked to him beyond a confirmation, a quick "yes" or "no". But now, she stood before him. The United States of America.

"Hello, and welcome to America!" he said, his voice dripping with ego. "You're one of the Russian fellas?"

Her brow furrows. "I'm a women, and I am _not_ Russian." Though she could understand the confusion with both statements. 

The wind on the ferry was much too strong, and as a solution, she'd pinned it all under a flat cap. With her old worn dress pants and the off-white dress shirt, it wasn't very hard for people to make that mistake. There isn't much she can say in terms of shoes, however, being barefoot. She didn't get to take much with her, besides the clothes on her back.

As for being Russian, well, everyone made the same mistake. After years under the Russian Empire, her existence was practically forgotten. Except for the Commonwealth, of course, which always had Poland's name in front. And now—finally—she was independent, only for her government to hand her over like a piece of land. Which, she technically was. It didn't hurt any less, though.

"It doesn't matter!" America's expression was unchanging. "I have no clue who you are." 

'Lithuania." She frowns. "As far as you are concerned, that is my name." 

His grin widens. "I'm America!" 

She chokes down the "I know" hanging from her tongue.

 

"Mister America, please hurry with your coffee, you've got a meeting with Mister England today." 

America nearly spit out his coffee. "That's today?" 

"Yes, after your appointment with the Secretary of State."

"But what about all the paperwork here about my funding? I can't survive off small jobs alone…" 

"I can take care of it while you're away." She takes the coffee away. "I apologise for taste. It was not to your liking." 

"Nah, you're fine. You'll get it eventually." He groaned. "This is a buncha bushwa. Straight up bullshit." 

Gabija hummed. "Yes, I do believe you've said that plenty of times before." 

"But this time it's totally true!" 

"I believe you." 

"I'm serious! I swear, they keep budget cutting me, those fucking bluenoses! They act like big shots, up there with their decisions and their heavy sugar and shit." Gabija listened as America rambled, despite not understanding a lot of it. Finally, she allowed herself to smile. 

"America. Appointment." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know!" He reached to rub his face and paused. "My—"

"Your glasses are on the nightstand in your bedroom." 

"Thanks, doll!" He dashed upstairs, his footfalls heavy and hard. Gabija smiled sadly. 

"How in hell's name will he run this place when I'm gone?"

 

When she first heard it, she couldn't believe her ears. "Say that again, please?" 

"I got some records!" Julia repeated eagerly, before looking to see if anyone was watching. She continued. "From America! Swing!" 

"You managed to find swing records? Where?" 

"That is disclosed information. What matters is that I have them, and you have that old record player thingy." 

Gabija frowned. That was a gift from Alfred, but she keeps that to herself. There's no need to tell Julia. "Are you asking me to borrow it?" 

Julia laughs. "Hell no! I don't give two shits about swing! I just really like pissing the Communist shitheads off. You can have 'em." 

It takes two moments moments for Gabija to process that, without all the curses. "Really? You'd just… give them to me?"

"Well why the hell not? I know we had a rocky past, but who gives a shit? East Europe has got to stick together, ja?" 

She bites her lip, nodding. "Taip." 

Later she listens to the records as loud as she can without getting caught. They're exactly what Julia had promised. Swing straight from the 20s, before the Depression hit. Before she had to return to the minefield that was Europe and to hard grasp that was Russification. 

Where the cold was enough to freeze alcohol and the famine hit hard. Where speaking your mind was punished rather than praised and where people cried tears of sadness. Where there was no good coffee. At least there was vodka.

If it wasn't for that, she'd be convinced she was in hell. 

With the music, she tried to imagine another time. She tried to imagine dancing, like she'd used to. Except now she wasn't dancing in a ballroom, she was dancing in a living room with the couches shoved back for room. She wasn't wearing an old military uniform, she was wearing a worker's uniform. She wasn't dancing with a noblewoman or a nobleman, she was dancing with a man clad in a crisp suit. 

A crisp suit that didn't match his haphazardly done hair and his cocky grin. He couldn't seem to give a more relaxed smile, but it didn't matter, because behind his wire framed glasses she could see his blue eyes sparkle. Gabija whimpered.

It wasn't real. It wasn't real and she was alone and cold. No one was there anymore. She shivered. She only wished she could be in hell, so she didn't have to feel everything freeze over. 

"Alfred."

 

"Alfred," she said, sternly. "The world is not ending." 

"I'm telling you, the computers are gonna fail and the nukes are gonna go off! It's gonna be devastating." 

"Mmhm." 

"And when you come crying asking for help, I'm not gonna!" 

She laughed. "Really? You do know they've said the world will end many times in the past." 

"So? The past is lame." Alfred huffed. "I can't believe the world's gonna end and we don't even have hover cars yet. Lame." 

"Hover cars?" she snorted.

"Hey! I'm serious! Imagine if we had hover cars. Life would be so much easier! I wouldn't have to get in a stupid plane to go and see you." 

"Is that all?" 

"Nah, but that's pretty important. Gotta keep the little Russian dude occupied." 

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not—"

"Not Russian, I know." He grinned, and she can't help but smile in return. "Gabi is a strong Lithuanian Empire and stuffs!" 

Her heart sang when she heard him say her name. She couldn't help it. It's like her foot tapping when she hears music or her lips curling upward when she's complimented. 

Alfred F. Jones—Gabija decides—is the closest thing to heaven she'll ever get.


End file.
